


If You Can't Stand the Heat

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Series, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 02:07:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has a hard time coping with the heat. Dean has his own ideas about how to help out. </p><p>Sam's age is unspecified. In my head he's 16. Feel free to adjust that to fit your comfort level/preference.</p><p>For brothersintheimpala.tumblr.com's prompt: hot summer days and popsicles and sprinklers</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Can't Stand the Heat

The Winchesters spent most of one long summer in southern Arizona. They arrived just in time for the start of one of the worst heat waves in the town’s history. John’s reassurance that the heat probably wasn’t mystical in origin was little comfort.

It was hot. Miserably, oppressively, unendingly hot. It was so hot that John let the boys substitute laps in the motel pool for the running in their PT. It was so hot that Dean was actually eager to spend time in the library because–unlike their crappy motel room–it had air conditioning that worked consistently. It was so hot that Sam and John settled into an unofficial truce, trading their usual yelling matches for sharp glares and sullen silences. No one had the energy for fights.

When they first arrived in town Sam made some extra cash mowing lawns for the motel owner and other people in the neighborhood. Within a few weeks, however, water-rationing kicked in, and only the obscenely wealthy and unspeakably selfish ran their sprinklers often enough to keep grass green and growing. He’d tried to start a dog walking business, but there weren’t enough interested pet owners and soon it was too hot for even the dogs to be outside. By the beginning of August the brothers mostly relied on Dean’s convenience-store pay checks to supplement the money John left them.

John had been gone for just over a week, and it was Sam’s turn to pick up groceries. He complained vaguely about the unnecessary two-mile walk to the store. Why couldn’t Dean just pick up food on his way back from work? But Dean snapped back that Sam didn’t have anything better to do, so he might as well make himself useful, and Sam just huffed and let it roll off his back along with the never-ending rivulets of sweat.

Once at the store Sam grabbed all of their normal essentials: milk and eggs, cheap protein, brightly packaged cereal, and blue-box mac and cheese. Then the popsicles at the end of the freezer aisle caught his eye: 75% off the patriotic remnants from the Fourth of July. He swallowed around the dryness in his throat. Suddenly he longed for the sticky-sweet taste of artificial cherry on his tongue, the cool liquid coating his throat on its way down. He added the box to his basket, reassuring himself that the sensation would be worth any ribbing he had to endure from Dean at his choice of phallic-shaped, self-indulgent treat.

The sun beat down cruelly on Sam’s walk back to the motel, and he swore to himself that next time he would get his ass to the store early in the morning, because the sweltering afternoon heat was too close to Hell to suffer voluntarily. He stumbled into the motel room dripping sweat and shoveled most of the groceries into the fridge and cabinets before reverently pulling out the popsicle box. It was soaked through with condensation. Sam ripped at the damp cardboard until he had a hole big enough for his fingers to reach into, and then he pulled out the first pair.

“Oh fuck.” Sam’s heart sank. He stared in despair. He didn’t even have to open the wrappers to see that instead of popsicles he held packets of sticks with melted juice. He closed his eyes and sighed, then heard Dean guffaw loudly behind him.

“Jesus Christ, Sam. You look like a twelve-year-old kid whose dog just died. It’s flavored ice on a stick. What did you think was going to happen when you took it for a walk in 104 degree temperatures?”

“Fuck off, Dean.” Sam leaned his head against the counter-top. “I’m sweaty, tired, and gross, and emphatically not in the mood for your bullshit.”

“Aww, Sammy. Don’t be like that.”

Sam refused to respond or even look at his brother as Dean walked up behind him. Then Sam jumped as he felt an icy hand trail along the back of his neck.

“What the fuck!?!”

“Shhh, Sammy. You said you were hot. Knew you would be. Been waiting for you to get back so I could cool you down.”

The hand on Sam’s neck disappeared for a moment before pushing his sweaty mop of hair away from his neck and dripping cold water along his scalp. Sam hissed and then groaned, pushing his head back into the cool, soothing scalp massage.

“That’s it. There you go. Now show me that pretty face,” Dean coaxed. His fingers in Sam’s hair firmly pulled and twisted until Sam was looking him in the eyes. Sam opened his mouth to protest the indignity, but Dean hushed him with two ice-cold fingers tracing over his lips and then pushing inside his hot mouth. Sam moaned at the cool wetness on his tongue and sucked on the fingers until Dean pulled them out with a soft pop.

“So, you feel like cherry?” Dean asked.

Sam looked at his brother in confusion as Dean tore open the wrapper for one of the melted popsicles. Dean put his fingers into his bowl of ice water and then dipped them in the sweet, red syrup before feeding them back into Sam’s mouth.

This time Sam grabbed his brother’s wrist and held his hand steady while he licked and sucked at every hint of the cool, sweet moisture that he could find. When he was done he smirked at his big brother and swallowed Dean’s fingers down to the webbing, massaging them with his tongue and hollowing his cheeks to apply more suction.

“Holy shit,” Dean moaned. “Please tell me that means you’re up for the main course.”

He moved his hand down and Sam followed it, sinking to his knees. Dean hurriedly opened his jeans and pushed them to the ground along with his boxers. His cock stood straight out, almost painfully hard. He slid his hand into Sam’s hair to guide that sweet red mouth where he desperately wanted it to go. Sam stopped him with a hand on his hip.

“I don’t think so. Not like that. I’m pretty sure you promised me cherry.” Sam grinned mischievously. Dean’s eyes widened as Sam scooped up some of the cold water and dripped it onto his dick.

“S-s-s-sam!?!”

“What’s wrong, Dean?” Sam batted his eyes innocently. “I just want my popsicle.” Sam poured the rest of the cherry juice over Dean’s cock. Before it could shrink from the cold he swallowed it down.

Dean’s knees shook, and he grabbed at the counter to hold himself up. The enveloping heat of Sam’s mouth was almost too intense after the freezing water. Sam pulled back and ran his sticky fingers up and down Dean’s dick, chasing after them with his tongue. Then he suckled on the head while pumping his hand up and down the shaft.

Dean felt himself getting close to the edge almost embarrassingly quickly. As his hips began to stutter he used his hand in Sam’s hair to pull him off his cock. Dean’s cum splattered across Sam’s lips and chin. Dean collapsed to his knees as Sam scrubbed the back of his hand across his face and grimaced.

“Damn it, Dean! Now I’m all sticky!”

Dean just chuckled and pushed Sam onto his back. He crawled over his brother and licked some of the spunk off of his cheek before feeding it back to Sam in a deep, dirty kiss.

“Hush, Sammy. Don’t be a little bitch. I think you look good like this, but fine. We’ll get you into a nice, cool shower, and then I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

“You better. Jerk!” Sam scowled and punched Dean in the shoulder before pulling him back into another kiss.


End file.
